


draft #_01: Deck

by bokutomode (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Screenwriter akaashi, Smut, actor bokuto, assistant director osamu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25911331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bokutomode
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou is nothing like Miya Osamu. Yet why..Or maybe, that's why.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	draft #_01: Deck

Lights. Cameras. Jumbled shouts of questions. Stiff smiles. Tired hands from waving. Dizziness from turning back and fort to smile at every angle.

Keiji is on the verge of passing out. He's never one for attention, he'll never get used to it.

"Akaashi!"

He turns around when he hears a familiar voice calling out for him, the said voice being swimmed from other noises and loud talks.

He smiles upon seeing Miya Osamu, one of the assistant directors of the film.

"Hey, Miya," he greets, smiling widely at the other and offers a hand for Osamu to shake.

The taller man accepts it, and Keiji is expecting a pat on forearm, like what other people did to him just now. Or a pat on the upper back, just like what the producers did to him.

Instead, Osamu runs his thumb on the back of Keiji's hand, giving him a too friendly smile.

Keiji chuckles lightly, feeling a little giddy for no reason, or maybe, there is.

"We're still up for dinner, right?" Osamu asks, still smiling.

Keiji nods, and takes back his hand. He puts it inside his slack pocket to clench it. Because really, being asked out by a very nice man to go out for a dinner would give a nice tingly feeling, doesn't matter if you like them or not.

It's the attitude, Keiji guesses. Because Miya Osamu, the rising director on the film industry, is nothing like his actor twin Atsumu.

While Atsumu is known for being a flirt to everyone but not totally a heartbreaker, Osamu is sometimes serious, sometimes airheaded. But he makes it up for actually being creative; ideas that never fail to amaze Keiji at every aspect. And for being nice. And caring. And knowing how to handle a talk that would make Keiji talk about himself despite not wanting attention.

Osamu, ever since the filming finished, started to talk to him. Ask him out on dates. And of course, despite having another screenplay to finish and focus on, Keiji agreed.

Nothing's _stopping_ him to do it. Nothing's _pushing_ him to do it.

"Sorry," it was Osamu. Keiji blinks up at him.

"For?"

"I know you're busy. You need to write the manuscript and script, right? You could've take a rest." Osamu sounded genuinely sorry. And Keiji appreciates it.

"It's not like I can take a rest tonight. Premiere nights are always tiring," he tells the other with a smile as he looks around.

Reporters scattering around. Producers and actors loitering. And their main leads, Ushijima Wakatoshi and Oikawa Tooru with their significant others.

"Am I the only one or Tooru's boyfriend really looks familiar?" Osamu whispers near his left ear.

Keiji shudders at the hushed voice, blinks rapidly at the warmth and at the ghost of palm on his lower back.

Caring. Assisting. No touch of malice.

And Keiji is falling in love with the actions and wooing.

"Iwaizumi?" Keiji asks Osamu. "Isn't he a recording person or something?"

"Music producer?" Osamu asks, equally confused as Keiji.

Keiji tilts his head to take a look at Osamu, looking up a bit at the taller, and laughs when Osamu has his brows furrowed.

"Hey! I'm tryna remember somethin'," Osamu bickers which makes Keiji laugh more.

"He's a singer. And producer. Composer. Music prodigy. Millionaire. And apparently, he's nice in bed, too," Keiji tells Osamu with laugh dying on his tongue. "Oikawa never shut up about this 'Iwachan' guy, Koushi almost tear his head off."

Osamu laughs heartily, left palm on stomach, and Keiji smiles at the sight.

Osamu is so attractive in so many ways. It's so painful to know this person right here has taken an interest on him, a boring screenwriter and occasional assistant director.

"Poor director," Osamu comments while looking at the film director, Sugawara Koushi, after laughing.

And suddenly, the crowd goes wild.

Cameras are shutting more, medias walking fastly to a certain direction, reporters greeting the person in attention.

And there could only be one person who can get that much love. That much attention. That _much_... want.

Bokuto Kotarou, in his suit and bow, waves at the crowd as the security guards him towards the VIP section, clasping hands with Ushijima Wakatoshi and Kuroo Tetsurou.

Keiji tries to look away, but he finds himself returning and returning, eyes carefully scanning the laughing actor and taking his sight right away in scare of getting caught red handed.

"Bokuto Koutarou," Osamu whispers.

Keiji snaps his head towards Osamu, eyes a little wide upon hearing those two words from the assistant director.

"Yeah?" Keiji asks, wincing when he almost crack his voice.

"If it wasn't for him, the film would be less interesting," Osamu comments. "I mean, the story is yours. You created the character. All kudos to you. But he executed the role better than we expected, huh?"

Keiji turns his eyes to Bokuto Koutarou fully now, not looking away to watch the actor shaking hands with the producers; smiling widely and puffing his chest jokingly when he receives compliments.

"Yeah.." Keiji drawls out, mouth gaping from the last vowel he breathed out.

He then turns to Osamu with a smile.

"Kuroo was really good in his conman turned rehab patient role. But Bokuto's role is something I had a hard time writing," he tells the other in all honesty.

Osamu turns to him, all ears and eyes wondering and Keiji's heart puffs a little at the genuine curiosity.

"Yeah?"

"Hm," Keiji hums. "A rehab patient for ten years, living normally on a cold wall and still be able to act... all gorgeous and dumb. Bokuto Koutarou portrayed the character so well," he tells.

And he exhales. Long. Like he's been holding his breath all this time.

Just then, Bokuto Koutarou turns his head towards them.

And smiles.

It's simple. Friendly. Almost beaming.

And Keiji feels his knees melting.

He isn't supposed to feel that way.

This must not happen at all.

He turns his face away when the actor stops in front of them, greeting Osamu boisterously.

"Samu-samu, how are ya?!" Bokuto almost shout while hugging the assistant director.

And Keiji gulps the moment Bokuto retreats. Because the beam and loudness in Bokuto disappears, suddenly being replaced by boyish smile and a snicker on the corner of his lips.

This looks cheeky. Looks so... dreamboaty.

And Keiji catches himself before thinking of any other things before Bokuto turns to him.

"Hey, Keiji," Bokuto Koutarou greets.

Keiji sucks a lungful of air, and releases it with a smile.

He chuckles airily and offers his hand to the actor, for a shakehand.

But Bokuto is nothing like Osamu. Keiji should've expected that.

He gasps when Bokuto Koutarou snatches his waist swiftly, and Keiji swears the way Bokuto literally scoops him, Bokuto must've grace his fingertips to Osamu's own fingers who were resting on Keiji's lowerback.

"All thanks to you, Keiji!" Bokuto says heartfully, eyes closed and lips in wide smile.

Keiji smiles and pats Bokuto's sturdy back.

It feels hard. Strong. And Keiji remembers how he clings to it on sinister times of his life.

He's about to retreat, going back to Osamu's side when Bokuto tightens his hold on his lower back. And whispers something in his ear, hidden from Osamu's and other people's sight. But so open to Keiji's ear.

"Meet me later. Underground parking lot. I miss you so bad."

And just like that, Bokuto pulls back with his usual beaming face. As if he never whispered something not-so-trivial words to Keiji.

He watches the actor sauntering towards the director. And stiffly, Keiji laughs.

All thoughts of dinner with Osamu dumped on a ditch.

"He's such a great actor," he tells with a little bit of anger and pity for himself.

Keiji avoided the lingering stares Osamu sent him all through out the whole premier night.

And Osamu is so nice. So nice, he only smiled when Keiji told him they have to reschedule their dinner.

•  
  


Keiji grunts, huffing at the feeling of Koutarou's hand on his inner thigh, massaging the soft and fats, trapping the man's hand when Keiji closes his thighs together.

"Still no thigh-gap," Koutarou laughs and squeezes Keiji's thigh with his strong hands.

Keiji closes his eyes, his lids wrinkling at the force.

"Stop comparing me to Rintarou," Keiji spats and pushes Koutarou's hand away from his thigh.

The man smiles fondly at him, and Keiji tries hard not to let his feelings get in the way because this is so familiar, so familiar, it hurts to think that it's happening and might happen again and he's just letting it to keep on happening.

"Don't you think Samu would do the same?" Koutarou asks with a smile amidst unzipping his slacks, his gray boxers showing. Keiji turns away, feeling the vein in his neck pulsed at the action.

"He's nothing like that," Keiji whispers to the bed.

"Uh-huh?" Koutarou hums in wonder. "Maybe. But isn't it weird? We were fucking on my trailer during the filming and he had something with Suna, right?"

"Show business and entertainment industry is weird," Keiji answers breathily, scooting closer to the bed to give space to Koutarou who is climbing the bed in his naked glory.

Keiji gulps at the sight. Of all of this.

Of the nakedness of the body and all of Koutarou even if he never understands him unlike how he shares his thoughts with Osamu.

"Yet you're dating Suna now. So I think you shouldn't ask me that," he adds on while watching the other retrieving a bottle of lubricant from the drawer.

It's sealed. Newly bought. And Keiji is not the type to ask how come Koutarou bottomed up the previoud bottle because he doesn't want to hear any answer.

"You said it yourself," Koutarou whispers cheekily, leaning in to leave a kiss on the apple of Keiji's cheek. "Entertainment world is weird."

It shouldn't pain him. It shouldn't pain and make his heart warm because he must not. Keiji knows this more than anyone else.

"It isn't weird if you're used to it," he tells Koutarou.

The actor hums, and leans in his kiss him straight on forehead that made Keiji gulp twice. He feels his eyes warming up, so he blinks his eyes to calm the nerves around them.

Koutarou then turns to his lips, kissing them twice before fully taking them, teeth touching his lower lip.

Keiji doesn't know any form of holding back especially when he's onto something. Just like how he never drop a pen despite in pain when the manuscript he's writing is on fire, he touches Koutarou's shoulders in desperate grip; the actor's lips travelling to his neck and down to the dip between his collarbones.

"When's the last time?"

Keiji opens his eyes, all because of the question and at the missing lips on his chest as Koutarou leans back.

"What?" He asks, confused and squinting.

His eyesight sucks.

"The last time," Koutarou repeats and nudges his left thigh, as if asking him to open it.

Keiji moves, spreading his thighs a little, raising it a bit as if asking Koutarou to lead everything the same time the actor takes a hold of his thigh to put it where he wants it in his hips nicely.

It's scary. How coordinate they are at this.

"With you," Keiji answers, again, breathily.

Koutarou raises a brow at that. The actor then uncaps the bottle of lubricant, squeezing the bottle a lot for Keiji's liking.

"With me, huh?" The actor asks in with a snicker.

Keiji would feel degraded, embarrassed and humiliated above the roof level, if it isn't for the soft smile the actor gives him; all looking serene as if he was just trying to be an asshole through out the ordeal until now.

Koutarou leans forward, his dry hand touching Keiji's thigh as he situated himself in between the other's thighs.

A kiss lands on Keiji's upper lip as Koutarou runs his hand on his thigh, wandering and finding purchase on the hump of his lower left buttcheek.

"So we better take things slow, since it's been like what? Four months?" Koutarou asks as he touches Keiji's hole with his lubricated fingers.

Keiji is the type to correct someone when they're wrong, and he would've told Koutarou that it's been four months and _two weeks_ , but given the circumstances, he doesn't have the face to tell on him.

Keiji sighs when Koutarou finally push a lone finger, his middle finger, and it's just a simple thing. Nonsense, to be honest, but Keiji finds it super erotic.

It might be because people would subconsciously use index, like when you're about to poke something, but Koutarou isn't like that.

It's like telling Keiji that he is up for a good fuck. And he's about to give Keiji another hell of a ride.

Koutarou hums when he wince, Keiji moving his torso to angle his own body in a more comfortable position. Though it's more of finding the spot he wants for Koutarou to reach.

Keiji glares when Koutarou chuckles, all childish as he pushes another finger, making the other forgets the laugh for a second.

"Don't toy with me," Keiji glares at the actor. Koutarou offers a wide smile.

"I'm avoiding your g-spot on purpose. Don't wiggle," Koutarou tells him with a laugh.

"I'm a man," he spats.

"Then I'm avoiding your male g-spot."

Keiji glares more when Koutarou guffaws at his own joke. As if the actor remembers where and what they are on, Koutarou leans in again to kiss him.

This time, it's no chaste. It's no testing the water.

It's deep and sensual; Koutarou angling his head to slant his mouth to accommodate more from Keiji's lips.

"Kou.." Keiji groans, his lips still touching the actor's lips as he gapes his mouth at the slow movements of Koutarou's fingers.

"You smells like him," Koutarou whispers, all husky and brows furrowing. "I hate it."

Keiji doesn't respond. He doesn't respond to everything Koutarou says the sounds like he.. like he really care.

"Kiss me more.." he tells the other instead.

Something flashes through Koutarou's eyes, split-second sign of awareness. Of understanding what Keiji wants.

And it scares Keiji when Koutarou complies; kissing him straight on his lips while moving his forearm faster, fingering him with such force and care that he wants nothing but to scream for Koutarou to go away but he knows he'll run after him despite seeing only his back in a grain of sand size like how far he is.

It scares Keiji, because Koutarou would usually smirk and he was expecting the other to mock him about Osamu, humiliate him for acting all nice. But Bokuto Koutarou is too determined to erase every waft of Miya Osamu's perfume scent that mingled to him because he was that close to him this night.

Koutarou is not happy. And Keiji wants to apologize, tearing up but prevents himself because there's no reason for him to feel this guilty.

They don't owe anything to each other. They don't own each other.

"Tell me."

Keiji sniffles, but from different reason now. The pleasure creeping up to his spine as Koutarou leans back and sits up on his shin; adding another finger making it three.

"Tell me how does it feel having Miya following you around and getting fucked by me afterwards," Koutarou adds on, frowning when trying to fit in his three fingers inside Keiji's tight hole.

"Hnngg," Keiji preens, whimpering and biting his lips from the coiling pressure on his navel. "No.."

"Tell me," Koutarou almost whisper-growls, retreating his fingers and not bothering to put a protection on, immediately manoeuvring himself in between Keiji's thighs.

Keiji shuders at the feeling of Koutarou's bulbous dick head, brows furrowing as the latter tries to push in.

"Tell me if that doesn't humiliate you.."

Keiji arches his back, feeling the raw skin despite the slickness, the tight grip on his left thigh raising it and the strong hand on his right hip.

"Kou.." he whispers, gripping Koutarou's left forearm and cries against his tight lipped mouth.

He used to be used to it. The feeling of it filling him up at midnight after long hours of shooting. Up his hotel room whenever Koutarou tried to pester him. At Koutarou's own condo unit, fucking against the wall or bed, slippery when it was inside the loo.

This was a daily routine when he was working as assistant director during the filming. This was a holy grain of sin knowing he wasn't supposed to entertain this man's advances despite them not seeing anyone yet at that time.

It was out of Keiji's league and plan. But he was there, and here he is, moaning at the feeling of Koutarou's dick pushing and pulling, knowing too well that the cries Keiji let's out are product of pleasure and suppressed frustration.

"Kou!" He sniffles, palms finding purchase on Koutarou's shoulder blades, scratching and clawing at his upper back like he offered his life to be saved by this ambiguous man alone.

"Tell me," Koutarou groans against his lips, hips not stopping from pounding. "Tell me what's inside that screenwriter mind of yours."

Keiji shakes his head. But not because of the question.

Times like this... times like this is what made him so deep into Koutarou. Questions like this is what makes him bend on his knees, crying for help to get out of this sinister bliss.

Because questions like that indicates curiosity. Indicates interest. And he doesn't want to see more of Koutarou's thoughts when he was, has always been so hard to read.

Keiji wants to keep Koutarou as a closed book. Just right there on the bookshelf, but never, not even once, opened.

 _I_ _shouldn't_ _be_ _doing_ _this.._ Keiji cries to himself as Koutarou burries his face on the side of his neck to kiss it open-mouth.

 _I was better than this.._ he cries more as his thighs quiver from the pleasure, lust and other deep feelings creeping out of his skin.  
  


•  
  


"That's fucked up, right?"

Keiji turns his head a bit, glancing at Bokuto who is stomach down on the bed, boxers on like him.

"You didn't have to voice out what's on my mind," he tells the actor with a ghost of smile.

Keiji grips the bed edge, too scared to lie down beside the man, despite it being the countless time they spend a scene like this.

In the end, Keiji complies to what Koutarou wants; the latter patting the space from time to time, not pressuring him with words but coercing him with soft smiles and soft stares and soft chuckles like... as if... like... as if they have something deeper than this between them.

Keiji stares at the ceiling at Koutarou scoots closer to him, can feel the actor's exhales wafting in his side.

"I'm thinking of rejecting it," Keiji then says. "The offer."

"You should."

He tilts his head so little just to look at the other. Koutarou is lying on his side now, elbow bent, propped up and head on his hand.

"You think so?" He whispers.

"Yep," the actor replies. "You don't have to force yourself to like a plot. You have your own style, Keiji. You have your own type."

Koutarou then sits up, hovering over Keiji and he bites his lips when the man's scent enters his nostrils, feeling all too complicated just by it as if they weren't devouring each other an hour ago.

The actor comes back in his position, now holding Keiji's eyeglasses in his left hand.

Keiji stills as Koutarou puts it on on him, a little bit lopsided but Keiji giggles and arranges it in a more comfortable place in his eyes.

"You're insufferable.." he mumbles while staring beside Koutarou's head, opting to stare at the wall behind.

"Which is true. I'm gonna force you to reject that offer. Hating on writing a character of a script you like is different from hating a whole script. You loved my character too much, reason you wrote it with loath."

Keiji laughs. He laughs and clutches his lips to stop himself from releasing too much loud. But Koutarou seems to enjoy this.

He doesn't mock him. He doesn't look at him weirdly. He doesn't force Keiji to uncover his mouth, knowing his limits and boundaries and that's what sets Keiji off the edge.

Koutarou is a whole mistery as he is such a generic person. He's a whole different from Miya Atsumu, a person who understands Keiji's perspectives and view in life.

Koutarou.. Koutarou is someone Keiji would be interested in. The way his mind words. The way his attitude and personalities clash. The way his personality jumps, all smiley one second and being all too quiet and shining like a lone star in a sea of ebony on the next second.

Bokuto Koutarou is too much of a person Keiji wouldn't want to reach, wouldn't want to know, wouldn't want to experience.

Because now that he did, he's swimming deeper and deeper on a property inside his feelings that he shouldn't be dwelling to.

Koutarou is not seeing someone. Keiji is opening a path for Miya Osamu now.

They shouldn't be doing this.

"Do you know I hated the fact that you made the script ending a ambiguous one? You could've killed the main lead and let his other half move on. Suffering is such a mediocre outcome."

Keiji smiles at the snort coming from Koutarou. His heart swells. His eyes blinks a little too fast. He's falling and his knees.. _oh, his knees_ _shouldn't_ _be_ trembling like this when he's lying on a bed.

Keiji clenches his fists above his bare stomach, listening to Koutarou's thoughts, taking notes of the way his words ends with such animated tone.

He can listen to this for a whole night.

Osamu can wait, anyway.


End file.
